


A Sense Of Almost Déjà Vu

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Declarations Of Love, Deja Vu, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Injured Irene, Injured Sherlock, Injury, Introspection, Kissing, Major Character Injury, Memories, Minor Injuries, Nearly Naked Irene, Nearly Naked Sherlock, Never Forgot You, Past Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes, Surprise Kissing, Tenderness, Tending Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the encounter with the terrorists, Irene tended to Sherlock’s wounds in a bathroom of a hotel before they spent the night giving each other pleasure. She left before he awoke, knowing what that night meant to her but never dreaming it meant anything to him. And now, years later, it’s almost like déjà vu, except <i>she’s</i> the injured one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sense Of Almost Déjà Vu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IdrisSmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/gifts).



> So another fic towards my 650th Sherlock fic! The ship was picked by **francesca-wayland** on Tumblr, and the prompt I chose to use had been picked by **IdrisSmith** when I had done my Non Sherlolly Fic Prompt Claim. It was [this picture](http://s27.postimg.org/hvlvle8f7/I_Can_t_Unlove_You_Prompt.jpg) that had been posted on a Facebook group I was on a while back that I had saved, so if there's someone I can credit, please let me know. I also used a prompt from [this list](http://penaltywaltz.tumblr.com/post/137274126169/nonsexual-acts-of-intimacy-select-from-the) of nonsexual acts of intimacy (" _patching up a wound_ ") to jumpstart the fic.

She had expected, if this was a situation either of them ever found themselves in again, that he would be injured and she would be tending his wounds, just as it had been after he had rescued her from the terrorists. He had been very careful, very efficient, but he had not escaped unscathed. When he was done taking care of what he needed to do to make sure there were no obstacles to getting her to safety they had made it to a hotel room and she had tended to his wounds, giving them her undivided attention.

She hadn’t had many supplies: no bandages, no antiseptic, no ointment. He’d stripped down to his pants and she’d taken a good look at the various cuts and gashes on him. He’d hadn’t been badly hurt, thank goodness, but there had been a pretty ugly gash in his upper arm. He’d managed to rip a towel in half and then one half into strips and she used one to tie it around his arm in place of a bandage. She’d used other strips and the small bar of soap that was with the hotel amenities to clean the wounds.

She was so focused on taking care of him that she managed to block out the fact he was nearly naked at first, that she was practically in his lap. It wasn’t until she was done, checking him over once again, her fingers curled into his arm gently below the makeshift bandage and her face close to his, her eyes focused on the curve of his neck... She watched him swallow as she straightened up and then he reached for her, pulling her onto his lap, his fingers sliding under the edge of the cotton T-shirt she had changed into when they had gotten into the room, settling just above the waistband of the denim trousers she now wore. She was looking down at him, her mouth hovering just over his, and then in the space of a breath she was kissing him, greedily, hungrily, and he was crushing her against him as though he needed there to be no space between them.

It hadn’t surprised her that they ended up naked shortly afterward, just barely making it to the bed. He worshiped every inch of her, lavished her with attention just like she had imagined he would, took her to dizzying heights of pleasure multiple times in multiple ways. His brother may have thought he was inexperienced but he was _quite_ mistaken in his assumptions, and she would gladly tell Mycroft Holmes this in vivid, lurid detail. And when they were well and truly spent, when they had simply reached the point of exhaustion, he kept her close, his chest to her back, his hand low against her abdomen. He held her like he didn’t want to let her go.

And oh, she wished he didn’t have to let her go.

But she knew he did.

She left before he woke up. It broke her heart, leaving him alone in that bed. She wanted to stay with him, go back to London with him, build a life with him. But it was impossible. She knew that, and she knew he knew that as well. He would be expecting her to be gone when he woke up. It might hurt him, it might not. But he would be expecting it. Still, she had hope that, one day, perhaps they could reunite some day.

She just hadn’t expected it to be like this.

It was almost like déjà vu now, except the positions were reversed and the location was new. Now they were at Baker Street and _she_ was the one stripped down and on the toilet and _he_ was tending to her wounds. Her dress had been slashed to ribbons and her La Perla lingerie set had been damaged; the orange floral lace and support underneath it had been slashed by the attacker’s knife on the left side and the strap on the right was hanging on by merely a thread. It was a shame, really. The knickers were mostly salvageable and so they were the only things still on her person.

Her injuries were worse than Sherlock’s had been but not bad enough to be needing treatment at A & E, thank goodness. He’d had company over, John Watson and his pretty wife and their toddler daughter, but he’d waved them both off, sent them home, told them he’d take care of her and answer their questions in the morning. And then he hadn’t said a word to her since. She didn’t like the silence. She had the feeling the silence said more than words ever would. She’d wounded him deeply, and while he would patch her up that was all he would do. He wouldn’t help her beyond that, he wouldn’t do anything more to assist her.

And worst of all, he wouldn’t forgive her.

That stung worse of all.

She looked down, watching the hands that had touched her so lovingly in the past, done such wonderful and spectacular things to her before, tend to her wounds so clinically now. “I am sorry I ruined your evening,” she said quietly as he tended a cut on the curve of her breast. He didn’t reply, dabbing it with antiseptic. She hissed slightly, and then lapsed into silence again as he continued to work. She had many cuts, and she was sure she’d have just as many bruises to match later. And once he was done tending her, she’d have to deal with it all on her own.

She was about to give up on having any conversation with him when he spoke. “I can’t unlove you,” he said quietly. Her eyes widened at that. She...had not expected this, not at all. She started to reply but he opened his mouth to speak again. “I have to be honest with you. I think about you a lot. All the time, actually. In the morning, at night, in the middle of my day. It's you. It's just always you. You invade my mind at the most inopportune times. I’ll be in the middle of a case and then you’re there. No reason, you’re just...there. And you have been for years. And then tonight, you show up, battered and bruised and bleeding and...” His hand tightened around the bottle of antiseptic he was holding. “Damn it, Irene, you’re a distraction and I should forget all about you and I can’t. You’re ingrained in my mind.”

She reached forward and cradled his face in her hands, running her thumbs along his cheekbones. “I think about you all the time too, Sherlock,” she said softly. “More than I should.”

He set the bottle of antiseptic on the counter and then moved closer to her, carefully pulling her off the toilet and onto his lap. He hadn’t gotten to all of her cuts and scrapes yet, but she didn’t care. It had been too long since she had been in his arms, since she had tasted his lips or felt him against her. He ran his hands up and down her bare back as she straddled him, using her position to kiss him again, not being so greedy with her kisses this time, taking her time with them. This time...this time she wanted to savour the moment, savour being with him, and never let him go again.


End file.
